


Bullfrogs and Jello

by isasolan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby William, Conspiracy, Episode: s07e22 Requiem, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Pregnancy, Season/Series 07, Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isasolan/pseuds/isasolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mulder hadn't gone to Oregon at the last minute? Alternate ending to Requiem (7x22).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullfrogs and Jello

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ignores all of seasons 8 and 9 except for the sex of the baby. It also ignores the ret-con that Scully tried IVF treatment to get pregnant. 
> 
> Spoilers for all episodes up to and including season 7. Lots of in-episode references. 
> 
> I would like to do this as a longer fic where they keep the baby but realistically I think I'll run out of steam so I'll post at least this part.

The sign reads Flight 1125 to Oregon. It blinks, BOARDING. Impatiently.

 

Mulder hauls his bag over his shoulder. Hesitates. Skinner is already standing in line to board, talking on the phone to someone. He shouldn't be here. It should be Scully instead. Mulder wouldn't let her come, not when she was not feeling well. She said, "I'm not letting you go alone." Mulder takes out his cellphone, thumbs it. He should call her. Make sure she's alright before he boards. She'll say, "I'm fine," and he'll pester her to go see a doctor. She's worse than him for that. Well. That's not exactly true. She is _his_ doctor. Half the time, he lets her do what she feels is necessary. Humors her. The other half of the times he's actually too ill to protest.

 

He smiles, and then he's so tired of this.

 

He should be with her, drive her to the doctor's. Sit with her in the waiting room, hold her hand. But they never do things like that, the normal way, do they. She told him something like that once. More than once. Don't you want to settle down for once, Mulder. It hadn't made sense at the time. Maybe it does now. Is this settling down? Sitting with her at the doctor's, making sure she's alright? She deserves so much more. He should be with her. At her side.

 

This thing, Krycek, Covarrubia... Two years earlier, maybe one year ago, he'd have been thrilled to go. He'd have been the first one boarding this plane. Does it even matter? Let the Sick Fuck die however he wants. Sorry bastard. The auditor was right. What else is there to investigate? At what cost?

 

What if it's the cancer again? The thought feels like a punch to the gut. The symptoms... Has her nose been bleeding? Maybe she's been hiding it from him. She wouldn't want him to worry, she'd pretend to be fine. She always says she's fine. But she isn't really, is she. He saw the longing in her eyes with that baby. She's not fine, she's broken and tired, they both are. Or maybe it's another cancer, somewhere else in her body. Eating her inside. He takes a deep breath, thumbs his phone some more. He should call her. No. He should be with her.

 

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner is off the phone, right by the gate, boarding pass in hand. He makes a gesture with his free hand, "Aren't you coming?"

 

"I..." Mulder swallows, puts his phone back in the inner the pocket of his suit. "I'm sorry, sir."

  


*

 

She didn't answer the cellphone. She wasn't home, either. Byers tells him she fainted, they took her to the ER. Mulder stares at his own phone in muted horror and then speeds up so abruptly he almost runs over a pedestrian. Fuck. He knew it. He fucking knew this would happen. Thank fuck he never got on the plane. Thank fuck.

 

He feels like throwing up when he steps into the hospital. Maybe he's allergic to the smell, whatever. He walks to the reception and swallows hard not to choke when he asks for Dana Scully. How many times has this happened, how many near-misses? She's on the third floor, they say. Mulder punches the button on the elevator, startles a child holding a balloon shaped like a bunny. He still thinks he's going to throw up. At least the ward is not the one for the terminally ill. He remembers that pain. It had toppled him in half.

 

"Mulder? What are you doing here?" she asks, sitting up when he steps into her room. She looks surprisingly well. Gorgeous as ever. Not even pale. Mulder feels weak in the knees.

 

"What's wrong?" he asks. His voice croaks.

 

"Nothing's wrong, Mulder. They're doing some tests to..." She trails off, breaks eye contact. He can't breathe, not really. "Come here," she says, holding her hand out.

 

He takes it, sits on the chair by the bed. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. He loves doing that. "I couldn't go," he whispers, incapable of raising his voice. "I couldn't leave. It felt wrong."

 

"Wrong? Like a trap?" He nods, letting her believe this for now. Scully frowns, but also looks... relieved? Worried? "What about Skinner?"

 

"Rebooked his flight, asked for backup. Some Agent Doggett. Never heard of him. The auditor's really tanking us this time," he jokes, and her lips twitch in a tired smile. Barely. His heart sinks. "Scully... what's wrong?"

 

"Nothing's wrong. At least I think not. I... I promise." She squeezes his hand. He feels like shouting, to make her stop her lies. But she keeps talking, "I don't... I don't even know how to tell you this."

 

"Say it. Just say it."

 

It's the cancer, isn't it. Is that why she has that nervous smile? It's like she's going to laugh or burst into tears at the same time. Godfuckingdamn it, just say it.

 

"I'm pregnant."

 

Pregnant. Scully. Pregnant. But that's impossible, isn't it, they removed all her eggs. Mulder saw them. Mulder found them. But here she is, smiling at him teary eyed, gesturing at a chart he doesn't look at. He thinks of Jenn, weirdly. The genie. After he set her free he had a twinge of regret. He could have asked for a baby, for Scully. For them. A single wish, wasted. Jenn had read his mind, or something. She'd said, "I'll see what I can do," but what was there to do, really? Her powers were gone.

 

"Mulder?"

 

Shit, he's been quiet for a while, hasn't he. Probably has a blank look on his face. He clears his throat, but it makes him want to cough. Scully is pregnant and she shouldn't be. It's bad news, it has to be. Is it possible they've taken her without his knowledge? He can can count the times he's not slept in her bed in the past month. A grand total of three, and not consecutively. Would one night be enough to take her?

 

"Mulder, say something."

 

He opens his mouth to speak, says nothing. They didn't need to take her. She went willingly. Some months ago she went on a little road trip with the Sick Fuck. Who knows what he did to her. Or had done to her. They never even had that fight. How far along is she?

 

"Is it..." Alien? Mine? He almost says it. Almost. She would slap him, she would. He's so angry, all of a sudden. She's staring at him. Sometimes he thinks she can read his mind. "...possible?" he finishes, dejectedly.

 

He doesn't want to fight, but he doesn't think he can hold it in. Not this time. This is too big. What the fuck have they done to her. He thinks of Emily.

 

Scully smiles some more, obliviously delighted. "All it takes is one egg, really. One egg, left behind."

 

They didn't wear anything the first time, too frantic, too desperate to think. He'd gone and bought a box of condoms the day after, more because he could than because he thought they'd use them. He'd flashed a triumphant grin at the cashier when he paid for them. The man hadn't smiled back. Scully giggled when he told her. 'We don't really need these, do we?' she'd said teasingly, rubbing herself on him. 'Or are there deep dark secrets in your sexual history that I'm not aware of?' She's aware of everything in his medical file, and it's not even embarrassing. He'd thought of Ed Jerse then, it made his blood boil. He rubbed her harder until he felt her wetness on his fingers and heard her groan his name. 'I think I slept with a vampire once,' he told her as he thrust into her, and she'd laughed, this beautiful laugh that drove him crazy. She hadn't believed him.

 

"How..." His voice cracks, again. "How far along are you?"

 

Maybe it's his. Please let it be his. She looks puzzled, tries to meet this gaze. He stares at her forehead, afraid that she'll see the anger gnawing on him.

 

"It's difficult to say. More than eights weeks, probably. They're doing more tests, an ultrasound." Her face darkens. "They're doing every test under the sun, Mulder. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, in case it was  a false positive. But it looks like the real deal."

 

She looks fiercely stubborn, his Scully. More than eight weeks, that's two months. The Smoking Bastard took her nine weeks ago. Fuck. That's so close. So heartbreakingly close. If it's more than nine weeks, it's his. Theirs. He feels like screaming.

 

She notices, of course. She frowns. "Aren't you... happy?" She swallows visibly. "I, I hoped you would be."

 

"I'm worried," he says, dryly. Shit.

 

"Worried? Mulder, I'm fine. It'll be fine."

 

"You know this isn't possible," he says, and he wants to kick himself. Of course she knows. "We have every reason to suspect this might be foul play." He's always been honest with her. When he sees her face he wonders if he should have lied.

 

"Don't," she hisses. "Oh, don't do this, not for this. Not everything is a giant conspiracy!"

 

He chuckles at the absurdity of this conversation, rehearsed for nearly eight years. "Isn't it. You of all people should know," he says, bitterly.

 

"Can't this just be what it is?" She is getting angry. "A baby. Our baby. A miracle, somehow."

 

Mulder knows she prayed for this. He feels nauseous, all of a sudden. He stands. "You know I don't believe in miracles, Scully, not in those kind of miracles. And not when you disappear for three days with arguably the most dangerous man in this planet! Goddamn it, what were you thinking!"

 

There. He said it. Nine weeks later, he finally exploded. By Scully's hospital bed. Fuck his timing. He should have yelled at her when she returned, sheepish and befuddled and trying to justify her insane quest. But back then all that he wanted was to kiss her and undress her and run his mouth on every inch of her body to mark her as his. Sex is also a form of fighting.

 

Her cheeks flush, her nostrils flare, and he hates how agonizingly hot she looks when she is angry. "I was never in danger, Mulder. How dare you presume..."

 

He cuts her off. "I need some coffee," he snaps, and leaves the room in brisk strides. She's calling him, but he doesn't stop. He can't deal with his.

  
  


*

 

He doesn't go far, actually. Mulder sits in the chairs of a waiting area just down the hallway, trying to calm himself before he goes kicking vending machines or clerks. He bites his nails. His fingers. The dull pain is absurdly soothing.

 

"I'm Doctor Joan Bennett," someone says, obstructing his field of vision with her white coat. He was staring at the wall without really seeing it. Mulder looks up, uninterested, to find a blonde woman with her hair tied back. "I'm Dana Scully's doctor today. I just saw you leaving her room." She hesitates. "Are you..."

 

"I'm Fox Mulder, her partner," Mulder says, without thinking, and then realises 'partner' means something else under the circumstances. A significant other. Not far from the truth, either. What was it that he'd told that werewolf woman? 'Not in the widely accepted definition of the term'. Dumbass. "The baby's father," he adds. "I think."

 

"Oh." The doctor wrinkles her nose in disapproval, then composes her face into something more neutral. "I didn't realize this was an issue, Mr. Mulder. You aren't sure the baby is yours?"

 

Jesus, she makes it sound like Scully had a sordid affair. "No," he admits anyway. She's probably seen his face, inferred he is... upset. "Can we find out, somehow?"

 

"It's still a bit too early for that. Considering her age, I was going to recommend an amniocentesis later on anyway. To rule out any congenital malformations. A paternity test would be viable with the liquid extracted from the womb."

 

Congenital malformations, god. How about alien hybridization? Toxic green blood? Emily. Please, no.

 

"That would be good, yeah," he says. "If she agrees."

 

"Of course. We'll be doing an ultrasound later today to check everything is going well at this stage."

 

The doctor's voice is icy. She must think him a pig. Why does a paranoid, jealous boyfriend sound more plausible than a paranoid, obsessive nutcase who suspects Scully is carrying an alien hybrid?

 

"Actually, could we pretend this paternity conversation never happened, Doctor Bennett? I'm probably being a giant ass over nothing. We'll, uh, work it out."

 

"I'm sure you will, Mr. Mulder." She looks in the pocket of her white coat, hands him a card. "You might want to consider giving this person a call."

 

He glances at it. Trish Holdberg, family therapist. "No, thanks," he says, "I have a PhD in psychology from Oxford," and it isn't until he finishes speaking that he realizes how pedantic he sounds.

 

"Even PhDs from Oxford need a little help sometimes," the doctor says, in a no-nonsense tone that reminds him of Scully. Curse the woman.

 

He takes the damn card. He flees.

  
  
  


*

"Sunflower seeds?" he asks the freckled teenager in the hospital shop.

 

They don't sell those. They don't sell peanuts, either. Probably because of allergies. He settles for a bag of pistachios, starts eating them before he pays. It's a small shop, crowded with people buying last-minute gifts. Medicine. Stuff to stay overnight. Will they keep Scully the night? Has she brought a toothbrush? He grabs one for her. A green one, like the one she has at home.

 

It's full of maternity presents, too. Pink jumpers. 'It's a boy!' rattles. Baby blankets. Mulder stares at the tiny clothes, runs a finger on the soft fabric. Yeah, but what if it is his? What if he has no reason to worry? He's been a jerk again, hasn't he. He thinks of Scully's brother, out of the blue. Bill would punch him into a pulp if he knew he has doubts. How odd they must seem to outside people. Mulder knows he sounds like a raving lunatic most of the times, and only Scully knows why he says what he says. Doesn't she? He hates when she gives him that long-practised skeptical look. The thing is, she wants this so desperately she'd rather think it's a miracle. And they knew this. They knew she wouldn't question it. Her judgement is clouded.

 

Shit, of course it is. She's having a baby. His baby. Please let it be his baby. He takes a pink stuffed animal, a giraffe or something. They don't sell any alien plushies. Maybe it's for the best. It would be insensitive, wouldn't it? He puts the giraffe back, it wouldn't do. She was very mad at him when he left the room. Probably expects an apology. How about flowers? He sighs, runs a hand over his hair.

 

"First time?" some woman says next to him, smiling. He must look like a nervous father. Hell, he may actually be.

 

"No. The first one died," he says, brutally. Not just the first one, there may be hundreds of Emilys out there. Oozing green blood.

 

"I'm sorry." The woman looks taken aback. Steps back. Yeah, this is what happens when you assume things about strangers. The balloons she is holding move after her in a gentle sway. Mulder stares at the bright colors. Cat-shaped. Bunny-shaped. Frog-shaped.

 

"Where did you get that balloon?"

 

It's perfect. He buys that, along with the toothbrush and the pistachios. He feels a little silly walking in the cafeteria holding a balloon, but he's done far more ridiculous things in this lifetime. He gets some coffee. Jello for Scully, too. She likes jello. He finds it gross, most of the time.

 

"A balloon? Mulder, you got me a balloon?" she says, disbelieving.She's still angry. Understandably. She's sitting up, scowling at him from the bed.

 

"It's a frog, Scully. A bullfrog."

 

It hadn't rained sleeping bags that night, but he'd felt the luckiest man in the world there in her arms, hearing her sing silly songs for him. Off key. He'd fallen asleep thinking he loved her. They never said those things back then. It was a long time ago, maybe she doesn't remember. Mulder remembers every waking second spent with her with disturbing accuracy.

 

Her gaze softens. She does remember. He can feel her anger thawing a little, enough to smirk. She says, "I'm not naming him Jeremiah, if that's what this is supposed to mean."

 

Mulder laughs, a sad choking laugh. He wants it to be his. Please, just this once, no aliens, no conspiracies, no one denying what they've so painfully built for seven years and and eight months. He hands her the jello. It's an apology. She knows. She takes it, dips the plastic spoon in the trembling red. What if it isn't his, though? She won't listen, she'll want to carry it full term and then... he can't bear to lose her. Not again, never.

 

He almost says that, but the doctor and a nurse wheel a machine into the room. An ultrasound machine. Scully hands him the half-eaten jello, smiles brightly.

 

"How are you feeling?" Bennett asks, "Are you ready?"

 

"Yeah," Scully says. "I feel like I'm about to burst."

 

Mulder watches, mystified, as the doctor lifts Scully's hospital gown and rubs some gel on her belly. He can see a hint of pubic hair, fiery red. He's seen her naked a thousand times but there's an intimacy in this moment that he's not sure he's allowed to witness. He takes a step back, but Scully grabs his hand.

 

"Stay," she says, and Mulder sinks into the chair, wordlessly.

 

The doctor turns the machine on, presses the handle on Scully's still flattened belly without looking, eyes fixed on the screen. It lights up in black and white. A lot of black, swirling around on the monitor.

 

"Ah," the doctor says, and Mulder's heart stops. What. What? "Here we go..."

 

The sound of a heartbeat echoes the room, fast and faint. At first Mulder thinks it's his own, frantic as he expects to hear the bad news. He realizes it's the baby's, drumming a quickening beat. Is it supposed to be so fast? Is there something wrong? Scully has tears in her eyes.

 

"Definitely a baby in here," the doctor coos. "A tiny little fellow. Everything looks perfect at this stage. I estimate five to six weeks old, Dana."

 

Five to six weeks? Oh God. That's not a lot at all. Where were they five weeks ago? He feels his throat dry. "Are you... sure?" he asks, his voice sounding out of place in this room full of women. "Any chance it's... nine weeks or more?"

 

Scully twists her head to the side to look at him, but he doesn't meet her gaze. He can't bear to. The doctor stares at him, eyes hard. Yeah, yeah, she hates him. Whatever.

 

"Not a chance, Mr. Mulder. There is a significant growth spurt around the ninth week. The size of the baby indicates six weeks, at most."

 

Six weeks. He went to England six weeks ago, they had sex when he returned. She'd fallen asleep on his couch and he'd carried her to bed. They made love in the dark, slow and sleepy. Not a chance it's nine weeks. Thank God. Oh, thank god. The baby is his. A tiny, human baby with impatient heartbeat and not the unspeakable product of an experimental violation.

 

He chokes back a sob, buries his head on Scully's shoulder. She runs her fingers through his hair.

 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I had to know."

 

She says, "It did cross my mind," and her eyes are kind, understanding. "I know you were afraid."

 

Mulder doesn't deserve her. He kisses her neck, her cheek. She giggles. She smells of jello. The doctor is saying something he half-listens to, about tests and prenatal care. All he hears is the baby's heartbeat.

 

They're having a child.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
